


Whenever Doubtful, Take A Chance

by backitup_baby



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backitup_baby/pseuds/backitup_baby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn turns their one-time thing into a two-time thing and starts off a series of experiments intended to shed light and further understanding on the enigma that is her sexuality. Santana's just along for the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is lifted from "[Experiment](http://www.stlyrics.com/lyrics/de-lovely/experiment.htm)," from De-Lovely.

**The first time.**

Later on, while Santana tries to catch her breath at the foot of the bed, she decides that this is all Quinn’s fault.

–

_4 hours earlier._

It’s Quinn who suggests the first round and begins everything. She leans in and whispers, while they’re watching their exes move together on the dance floor, “I know something that can make us feel better.”

Santana’s response is instant and blatantly defensive. “Who says I need to feel better?” 

“I do.” Quinn raises her eyebrows at Santana, challengingly, and waits for her to give in. 

High school Santana, the girl she’s tried to leave behind ever since she moved to Louisville and pretended that it was what she wanted, would have balked immediately at the idea of agreeing that Quinn was right. College Santana, though – rather, college drop out Santana – needs a drink like she needs air, and she nods, wrinkling her nose as she catches sight of Finn and Rachel’s reunion dancing a few feet away from them.

“Fine. Do I need to buy for you?” Santana brings her hand to the top of her right boob and slips her fingertips underneath the neckline of her dress, making sure her fake ID’s there.

Santana doesn’t miss the way Quinn’s gaze drops down, lingering for a moment before she brings her eyes back up. She’s convinced it must have been a figment of her imagination, though, since Quinn’s talking again like nothing had happened. “I have one too. First round’s on me.”

–

Quinn twists the cap off of a water bottle from the mini fridge and closes her eyes as she swallows it down. Santana takes a moment, now that Quinn isn’t looking, to admire how the line of her jaw leads so nicely to her neck. 

She shakes her head slightly, willing herself to stop focusing on how beautiful Quinn is. She has a feeling that it’ll be a lot easier if she just thinks about how hot she is, instead.

–

_3 hours earlier._

Their second round of champagne, a few moments ago, leads right into their third round. Afterwards, Santana decides it’s time for a change of pace.

She licks the webbing between her thumb and index finger, then shakes the salt onto the wet spot as she steals a glance over at at Quinn. “How drunk do you exactly want to get tonight?” 

It’s not necessarily that she wants to be a buzzkill, but she’s long learned to not trust herself when drunk around pretty girls. It’s strange, though. She never thought that, almost a year after graduating, she’d be trying to be reasonable one out of the two of them.

Quinn, though, just smiles, almost fondly, at Santana. “I know how to drink now. All I want is to be drunk enough so the world’s just a _little_ bit blurry. You can’t blame me for wanting to make being back in _Lima_ easier to bear.”

And because Santana can’t really fault her on that, she picks up a lime wedge and holds it out towards Quinn in a toast. “Ready?”

“Cheers,” Quinn returns, clinking her lime wedge against Santana’s with a smile.

–

Santana almost regrets suggesting a second round immediately after the words come out of her mouth. Quinn is leaning forward, though, towards her, and then they’re kissing.

It’s nice; ‘bad kisser’ isn’t something she’d apply to Quinn Fabray at all. There’s something tentative there, though, almost careful, and it makes Santana second-guess whether this really should be happening. 

–

_2 hours earlier._

Quinn had started it all, but Santana carried on whenever Quinn looked unsure, not sure how to keep it – whatever it was that was going on between them – going. 

It’s Santana who first suggests that they dance, and her face is flushed as she leads Quinn onto the dance floor. At first she keeps her distance, instinctively finding the beat of the upbeat song being played and lifting her hands up as she moves to the music. Quinn follows suit and as Santana makes eye contact with with her, she notices that Quinn’s eyes are bright and it’s the most carefree she’s ever seen her old friend.

There’s something about the way Quinn’s looking back at her right now, the way she’s been looking back at her all night, that makes Santana think about what could be. 

She raises her eyebrows questioningly as a slower song comes on, and when Quinn nods and steps closer, Santana wraps her arms loosely around her waist. She isn’t 100% sure what’s going on between them, but she figures that isn’t important right now. It’s not like anything serious is happening, anyway. They’re just two friends, dancing together at a wedding, and everything’s normal.

Quinn sighs slightly during the third song they’ve danced to, though, and Santana raises her eyebrows, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Yeah, well, I almost didn’t come,” Santana says, blustering only slightly. “I only just moved to New York and now I’m back in Lima, _again_.”

Quinn’s unfazed, though; she just rolls her eyes and smiles, just enough for Santana to notice. “You wanted to be here, Santana. Keep an eye on whatever the hell is going on with Brittany and Sam, catch up with Mercedes…” 

“And see you,” Santana hears herself saying, quickly. She looks away for a moment; she hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but now that it’s out in the open, she can’t take it back. “I wanted to see you,” she repeats then, a bit stronger.

“I wanted to see you too, S,” Quinn says, smiling almost shyly before glancing away. It’s the kind of thing Santana hasn’t seen directed at herself very often, and it makes Santana smile back almost as if on cue.

–

“Quinn, on second thought, maybe we shouldn’t be –”

“Why not?” Quinn’s looking intently at Santana, worrying her lip slightly. “This was your idea.”

Santana allows herself one more eyeful of Quinn’s breasts, just in case they really do stop and Quinn puts them away, before sighing and putting on a bit more bravado, hoping it’ll fool her. “While, believe me, I completely understand the need to experiment if you’re still not convinced of what your sexuality is and all of that shit, I’d just like to know what I’m getting out of it in return.”

“You make good points.” Quinn’s silent for a moment after that, and Santana’s just about ready to get up and put her panties on again when Quinn resumes. “Don’t get me wrong. I really enjoyed what… what we did earlier.”

“Of course you did. I blew your fucking mind, just like I said I would.”

“Let me finish.” Quinn shoots her a half-annoyed, half-amused smile, and Santana tosses her hair in response. “I really enjoyed it, but I’m still not sure, you know… what I am. What I like, or what I want. I know, labels are for clothes, not people –”

“What kind of –” 

Quinn shushes Santana, narrowing her eyes slightly, then continues. “Come on. Do you like being labeled? Me either, by other people, but I’d just like to, you know.” She toys a bit with the end of the sheet that’s still covering her lap, almost nervously. “Better understand.”

Santana can’t really fault her on that, so she shrugs. “Okay. So you’re sure you want to try it again?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s like the scientific method, right? Run the experiment again and see if your hypothesis holds up to testing?”

“Am I the scientist or the experiment, here?” Santana asks, pretty sure this is the least arousing pre-sex talk she’s ever experienced.

“The scientist,” Quinn says, then smirks, adding a suggestion: “One of the things we can track is the strength of my orgasms?”

It doesn’t take Santana long to consider this proposition. 

–

_1 hour earlier._

Quinn has a hotel room, upstairs. 

She mentions it, offhandedly during their last round of drinks – tequila sunrises, on Santana’s request – and Santana’s eyebrows raise. 

“I didn’t want to have to deal with my mom tonight,” Quinn says with a dismissive shrug. “And now that we’ve had a few drinks, it’s probably for the better if we stay here.”

Santana’s eyes widen slightly at the ‘we,’ but despite the drink she understands when, as always, she and Quinn are playing games. And, as always, the best way to win the game is to lead off with a strong offense. “Trying to get me into bed?” she asks, trying to be as suave as possible when she’s also pressing her hand onto the bar for balance.

Quinn leans forward, almost predatorily, and hums, a hint of a smile on her face. “You mean you’re not a sure thing? Isn’t that what you were offering two years ago, before Nationals?”

“For the tenth time, that’s _not_ even what I –” Santana stops mid-sentence and Quinn bites her lip in response, looking even more amused as she watches Santana try to process. It’s infuriating, so Santana shakes her head slightly before retorting, “I thought you weren’t ‘that into that,’ anyway.” 

“Let’s just say…” Quinn reaches out and runs her fingertips along Santana’s forearm, lightly, and licks her lips. “I’ve done a lot of thinking.”

Santana realizes now that this would be an appropriate time to take a step back and assess the situation. If she were her new roommate, either of her new roommates, she’d even make a pros and cons list. However, she’s inebriated – _drunk_ , if she’s being honest – and Quinn is waiting, looking at her expectantly. 

And she can’t honestly say she hasn’t thought about it, either.

Taking a step closer, Santana lets her voice lower as she finally asks what’s been on her mind all night. “Thinking about what, Q? How I’ll blow your fucking mind once we get up there?”

Quinn turns her head to look up into Santana’s eyes, one of her eyebrows quirked. “Is that how you talk to all the girls?” she asks, and Santana can tell she’s doing her best to seem nonchalant. “You never were detail-oriented.”

“That’s true,” Santana agrees, unbothered. Quinn’s starting to gain the upper hand here, though, so she tilts her head and gives better than what she’s getting. “What if I told you that if I went upstairs with you tonight, I’d suck on your clit so hard you’d see stars?”

There’s a brief moment in which Quinn inhales sharply, eyes wide, and bites her lip before she manages to get ahold of herself, and Santana knows she’s won. “Upstairs?” Quinn manages finally, eyes focused on Santana. “Now?”

She phrased it as a question, and as Quinn’s fingers tighten around Santana’s wrist as she starts pulling her towards the elevator, Santana is pretty sure there’s only one right answer.


	2. Chapter 2

**The second time.**

They meet in the middle of the bed again and any doubts Santana has about how much Quinn wants this are soon assuaged by the way Quinn’s kissing her. 

It’s messy, uncoordinated and almost violent, and Santana can feel Quinn’s teeth crash against hers before they both adjust to make it work. She leans up, moving so she’s kneeling, and pushes forward and down so Quinn’s underneath her, both of their heads back at the top of the bed. Quinn responds by wedging her leg between Santana’s, moving her hips onto the other girl’s waist.

“How long have you been thinking about this?” Santana moves from Quinn’s mouth to her neck, sucking hard as she rocks against Quinn’s thigh. 

Quinn shifts underneath Santana slightly, bringing her arms up and around Santana’s back to scratch her nails down her tan skin, hard. “Few months, maybe?”

It’s less specific than Santana would have liked and she’s suddenly really, insatiably curious about why her formerly straight friend has decided to embark on a prolonged sexuality experiment. “How long have you been thinking about this with me?” she asks then, all in one breath, and closes her eyes when the pressure on her clit is just right.

“Santana, don’t,” Quinn says, and all of a sudden Santana’s worried Quinn will put a stop to this, that she’s having second thoughts. Quinn leans her forehead against Santana’s for a moment before speaking again. “It’s not about you and me. It’s just a friend helping another friend figure something out.”

The weird thing is, Santana’s heard this kind of thing before – except it was coming out of her own mouth. Time and some sense has taught her that it isn’t necessarily the best way to approach this kind of thing, but she knows she shouldn’t have expected this much from Quinn right now. The alcohol’s worn off, and both of them are sober. Santana figures that Quinn’s so fixated on her experiment concept that she can’t think about what else this might mean.

Santana isn’t 100% convinced that she’s okay with that, but Quinn’s staring up her like she wants her and only her, so she pushes the thought away and bends down, her fingers moving low down Quinn’s body. She can’t help but smirk when Quinn moans, loud into her ear. 


	3. Chapter 3

**The third time.**

Three weeks later, bored out of her mind because she still hasn’t gotten a job yet and the drama from Brody’s potential drug dealing has worn off, Santana gets a text from Quinn.

Are you going to be around this weekend?

Of course she is. Where the fuck else would she be? She used all of her savings and at least half of the money her mom’d given her to move to New York. The rest was being rationed out for food and rent.

**yes. U metro northing it?**

Meet me at Grand Central at 10:01AM on Friday.

Santana narrows her eyes at her phone. Even new, _slightly_ more easygoing, cool with experimenting college-Quinn wouldn’t skip classes, so she figures she probably has the day off and wants to get out of Connecticut. Santana really can’t blame her.

Opening her computer, Santana checks the apartment’s online calendar (Rachel’s idea, obviously) and bites back a smile when she sees that Kurt and Rachel will be busy this weekend with school things. Brody’s obviously going to be busy, too, even though he doesn’t have access to the calendar, because he’s a pusher.

Santana has to admit to herself that even though Quinn’s probably just coming to visit as a friend, there’s a part of her that’s been waiting impatiently to see Quinn again. After the wedding – or what was left of the wedding, anyway – they’d agreed to keep things platonic and normal, since the last time that either of them tried dating friends, neither incident ended well. Neither of them had mentioned Quinn’s experiment. She wonders, briefly, if the topic will ever be broached again, and decides to play it by ear, depending on how Quinn behaves when she’s there. That doesn’t mean, though, that Santana won’t stop giving Quinn a hard time just for the hell of it.

**ugh it takes like an hour to get there just take the subway here**

It’s not my fault your roommates’ apartment is so far away.

Do you really have something better to be doing with your time?

Santana rolls her eyes. 

**excuse me i am looking for jobs like all the time.**

Do you have any interviews Friday morning? Or late Thursday evening, which would be a worthy excuse for you to sleep in on Friday morning instead of meeting your long-time friend?

After adding a new all-day event called ‘Quinnvasion,’ making sure to indicate that it’ll last from Friday to Sunday, Santana taps her thumbs on her phone and wonders exactly what she’s getting herself into. Quinn was probably the closest friend she had right then, but she was still Quinn: irritating as hell most of the time and downright acerbic at her worst. 

**seriously? bite me**

Quinn’s next response, though – Is that a promise? – makes Santana raise her eyebrows, a smile playing at her lips. Oh. Well, okay. If she was going to play it like that…

**can’t wait for you to come, q.**

Me either, S.

–

_A few days later._

Quinn kisses Santana outside of her door, once they’ve climbed up four flight of stairs and before Santana’s gotten her keys out. They jangle slightly in her hand before she finally drops them on the ground and brings her hand up into Quinn’s hair, tightening her hold as she presses closer.

She figures the kiss will last just for a minute or so before they actually, you know, go _in_ the apartment, but Quinn has her fully against the door, now, and Santana has to gasp for breath against Quinn’s mouth. She feels lightheaded, dizzy, even, and Quinn must realize belatedly that her hands are tight on Santana’s hips because all of a sudden she lets go. Quinn’s hands hover in the air for a moment, awkwardly, before she moves them, more gently, onto Santana’s waist.

Though Santana had wanted to play this cool, as usual her mouth’s running away from her as she hears herself start her typical bluster. 

“Shit, Q, knew you were hot for me.” Santana tilts her head back against the door, taking in the way that Quinn’s face is flushed and her gaze is lingering steadily on Santana’s mouth. She licks her lips, slowly. 

Quinn bites her lip, hard; it’s enough to tell Santana that she was watching, but then she ruins the effect by rolling her eyes and getting suddenly _business-like_. “As you may recall, Santana, we’d agreed to engage in a long-term experiment. Preliminary results indicate that, yes, I’m ‘hot for you,’ but I wanted to repeat the experiment in a new environment in order to assess the validity of this claim.”

How she managed to say all that while their fucking tits are pressed together, Santana will never know.

She extricates herself from Quinn’s hold, then bends down to retrieve her keys and let them both inside. After locking the door after the two of them and Quinn’s luggage, she leads the way to her portion of the apartment and sits down, rather unceremoniously, on her bed. (It’s an air mattress, really, but it’ll do for now.) “‘New environment’ just meaning New York instead of Lima?”

Quinn nods as she removes her coat, folding it and placing it neatly on top of her suitcase. Santana’s pretty sure she’s never seen anyone make a turtleneck sweater look as appealing as Quinn’s doing right now. “I feel less, you know…” 

“Desperate?” Santana supplies, helpfully.

“ _Lonely._ Now that I’m back at school, I mean. And there’s certainly more to do in the city than at home, so we aren’t resorting to sex just because there isn’t anything else to do.” Quinn bends down and pulls her jeans leg up slightly to reveal that she’s wearing boots, dark brown leather ones with a high heel. She unzips, slowly, and Santana watches all the while.

“Then why the kiss in the hall, just now, if you were so set on continuing our experiment?” 

Quinn actually looks a little embarrassed. She’s gotten out of one of her boots and is busy unzipping the other when she looks up to make eye contact with Santana. “You looked really good,” she says, her voice low. “And I couldn’t help myself.”

“I missed you.” Santana’s not sure where that came from; it’s not the kind of thing she readily admits, but she knows it’s true. She scoots back on her air mattress and kicks off her own shoes before spreading her legs slightly, hoping Quinn gets the hint. “Let’s experiment.”

–

**The fifth time.**

“I’m so glad you have a single,” Santana says, raising an eyebrow at Quinn suggestively.

“Santana–”

“I mean, can you imagine if we had to sexile your roommate right now so we could do this?” Santana taps the thumb of her right hand on Quinn’s thigh and smirks. 

Up higher on the bed, Quinn squeezes her eyes shut in frustration. “Santana Lopez, I will literally _kill_ you if you don’t go back to what you were doing before you decided that _now_ was the best time to start running your mouth.”

“It was really bad timing that when you were visiting, it turned out that all that bullshit NYADA stuff got canceled and then it snowed, so we couldn’t be alone.” Santana shifts her left hand so her fingers move, _just_ slightly, inside of Quinn, and shoots another self-satisfied grin up at the other girl.

“ _Santana_ ,” Quinn whines, shoving her hips up at Santana as best as she can. “I was really close before you started _talking_ and I mean it, you’re going to die after I get off–”

“Who says I’m going to still get you off if you keep threatening my life?” To prove her point, Santana scoots downwards on the bed, effectively pulling her fingers out and moving her mouth even further away from Quinn. “That’s not very nice. I thought we’d gotten past that in our relationship.”

Quinn’s eyes open suddenly to make eye contact with Santana. “We’re not in a relationship.”

Santana shrugs, though if she weren’t currently naked and in front of an equally-unclothed Quinn, she’d take the time to assess the fact that a weird part of her felt kind of… sad about Quinn’s immediate denial. “Friendship. You know what I mean.”

“Friendship,” Quinn echoes, looking down at Santana and biting her lip. When she speaks up again, this time her voice is significantly less harsh. “Friends who make each other feel _really_ good.”

“Tell me how good and I’ll start again,” Santana offers. Though really, she isn’t going to hold out that much longer; she misses Quinn already, so she brings her hand up and licks her finger slowly, maintaining the eye contact with Quinn all the while.

Quinn’s the first to break it, glancing up slightly to watch Santana. “The best I’ve ever felt,” she admits in a whisper, biting her lip again. “Please, Santana.”

Santana nods, appeased for now, and moves closer again. After a moment, she reaches up with her right hand and finds Quinn’s. Later, both of them will deny being the one to tangle their fingers together.


	4. Chapter 4

**The twelfth time.**

Quinn’s drunk, so as she wraps her arm around Santana’s waist to steady herself as they make their way to the subway, Santana takes the opportunity to turn her head and ask something that’s been on her mind. 

“How long have you been wanting to… experiment with me, Fabray? Think you said a few months at the wedding, but you can be more specific than that.”

It’s the kind of question that, usually, would cause Quinn to shut down. Santana feels vaguely guilty about asking it while she’s inebriated, but she really wants to know. Besides, Quinn isn’t so drunk that she won’t remember the next morning, and by this point in their friendship Santana can tell that Quinn’s still mainly in control.

There’s a pause, though, before Quinn lets out a sudden laugh. “Sophomore year,” she says proudly, an amused smile on her face. “I just remembered. It was when I first found out about you and –” 

Santana closes the distance between them to kiss Quinn before she can say the other girl’s name, biting Quinn’s lip hard to make sure she gets the message. It makes her think about a time in which she would have never kissed another girl in public. Here in the Village, though, outside a bar that is quite possibly the gayest place she’s ever been in, she couldn’t care less.

Quinn wraps her arms around Santana’s neck and pulls her in closer, just when Santana had been about to pull back. Santana can tell from the way that Quinn’s kissing her that the other girl’s smiling the whole time. Eventually, when Quinn breaks the kiss to catch her breath, she says, “I’m glad we’re experimenting.”

Santana does her best to ignore the twisting feeling in her stomach that appears whenever Quinn mentions that they’re just experimenting; it’s too inconvenient for Santana to want more, not when Quinn clearly doesn’t. And the sex is great, so why do something that’ll ruin a sure thing? “Me too,” she says, and doesn’t add anything else when Quinn pulls way slightly to take Santana’s hand for stability, a few minutes later, as they start to head down the steps to the subway.

–

“Be quiet,” Santana reminds Quinn, though she knows it’s futile; she’s drunk, too, though less drunk than Quinn, and it feels almost as though every sound between them is amplified, like she can hear Quinn’s own heartbeat in her ears as clearly as she can feel her own as they move together on top of her air mattress.

“ _Trying_ to.” Quinn actually whispers, for once, but she speaks up again after a moment and her volume’s significantly louder. “I didn’t get to finish, earlier. When I first wanted to experiment –”

Santana grits her teeth and thumbs Quinn’s clit even more roughly than she had been, just so Quinn will stop saying the E word. Sure enough, Quinn lets out a low moan, one that Santana is pretty sure everyone else in the apartment just heard, but right now she doesn’t really care.

“And I thought about why not _me_ , because I’m totally hotter than–”

“Don’t.” Santana repeats the action, pressing harder, and watches to see Quinn arch her back in response. “This is about us. Not – anyone else. Us.”

She doesn’t mean it to sound so possessive or territorial, almost as though she’s trying to say that Quinn should belong to her and she to Quinn, but that’s not what she’s trying to do. 

Quinn tilts her head up, though, and kisses Santana fiercely. Her teeth capture Santana’s bottom lip and Santana inhales sharply before Quinn lets go. “It’s about us,” she echoes, almost too quietly for Santana to hear.


	5. Chapter 5

**The seventeenth time.**

After the last time they’d been together, before Santana dropped Quinn off at Grand Central with a pained smile and a wave goodbye, they’d agreed on their next weekend visit, set for a few weeks afterwards.

They talked a lot. It was usually via text, since both of their schedules didn’t seem to match up that frequently with Quinn at school and Santana working, but sometimes they’d manage a phone call. Santana found herself looking forward to those more often than not. It was nice, to know that she could talk to someone whenever she wanted.

Sometimes, though, it wasn’t so nice.

“What do you mean, ‘you can’t go out with him?’” Quinn’s talking so loudly that Santana swears she could hold the phone three feet away from her face and still be able to hear every word Quinn’s saying, perfectly clearly.

Santana sighs and puts a hand on her hip as she paces around the apartment. “I didn’t mean to _say_ that.”

“Okay, so, are you deaf? What do you mean, ‘you can’t go out with him?’” Quinn’s voice scales up both in pitch and volume as she repeats herself and, miles away in New York, Santana winces.

“Fine. You want me to be honest?” Santana clenches her jaw in frustration. “He sounds like a dick. You don’t need to have to deal with shit like that right now. And honestly? I can’t believe you’re blowing off our plans to stay in _New Haven_ and go on a date with this second-rate jerk off.”

“You live in a _different state_ , Lopez. We go to _different schools_. Sorry if I can’t just always get on a train just to see _you._ ” 

Santana can picture the look that must be on Quinn’s face right now – that annoyingly cute, frustrated expression she always gets when things aren’t going her way. She knows it’s a good thing that they’re not together right now, in person, because Santana’d find it too endearing and it’d deflate her anger. There’s distance, though, between them, enabling her. 

“We had plans, bitch. Plans _you_ seemed to be all about a few weeks ago, when you _told_ me to block out this weekend so you could come. When _you_ said you couldn’t wait to be with me again. And if that was all just a crock of bullshit you were feeding me, man up and just fucking say so. I don’t need to waste my time over you again.”

When she’s done, Santana’s breathing heavily into the phone and Quinn’s completely silent for a long while before she speaks again.

“Something came up, Santana–”

“Don’t even.” Santana pulls the phone away from her ear and hangs up before she can even think about what she’s doing.

–

Santana’s pretty sure that she’s seen too many bullshit, fairy-tale happy-ending movies with Kurt and Rachel when she realizes, later that night, that she’s actually expecting Quinn to show up, unannounced, to apologize.

Quinn doesn’t show up. 

Santana forces herself to not sit around thinking about it. Why waste her time doing that when she can drink instead? She declares that night ‘Margarita Night’ and is out to the bodega on the corner for tequila before Kurt and Rachel can complain.

–

She doesn’t hear from Quinn until a few weeks later, in the beginning of April, when their apartment gets buzzed and when Santana goes to tell whoever’s on the intercom to fuck off, the sound of Quinn’s voice, tinny and far-away sounding, makes her come to a standstill.

“Fuck off, Fabray,” she says into the intercom. It really was a multipurpose greeting.

“Santana Lopez, let me in.” 

“Is that Quinn? Oh, how exciting! I love when we have company!” Santana turns slightly to look over her shoulder and glare at Rachel, who’s bounding over from the kitchen.

“Don’t let her in.” Santana makes sure her finger’s on the intercom button so Quinn can hear her. She then releases it and stomps over to her room and realizes, too late, that there’s no way to slam a door shut when one doesn’t actually _have_ a door. She settles for pulling the curtain closed and kicking her mattress.

“Really? A tantrum? Are you 8?” 

Santana whirls around to see Quinn there, a messenger bag slung across her shoulders. She wants to make a scene out of this, go on some long, catty ramble that will put Quinn in her place. Instead, though, all she does is stand there and wonder why she feels so betrayed when they weren’t ever anything.

Quinn’s there, though. Doesn’t that mean something?

“Santana, talk to me.” Quinn’s trying again to start a conversation and Santana has to admit that as far as conversation starters go, this one’s a little bit better than a snide insult.

“I have _nothing_ to say to you.” Santana turns away and tries to busy herself with the first thing she sees; unfortunately, it’s her sock drawers, so she ends up ineffectively poking around at her socks, feeling very aware of Quinn’s presence as the other girl walks towards her.

She narrows her eyes when she feels Quinn touch her, tentatively, on the shoulder, but doesn’t turn around. “Santana, please.” There’s a long, painful moment of silence then, before Quinn speaks up once more. “I’m sorry. I’m here now. Is that good enough?”

Santana turns around then, her disbelief clear on her face. “‘Is that _good_ enough?’ You know what would be ‘good enough,’ Fabray, is –”

“What, Santana? What are you so upset about?” Quinn’s biting her lip now. “Haven’t we done worse things to each other?”

Santana takes a step backwards and puts her hands on her hips, looking up at the ceiling of their shitty apartment so she doesn’t have to look at Quinn. “Just forget it. It’s stupid.”

“Santana, _please._ ” It almost sounds like Quinn’s begging. It’s such a novelty that Santana brings her gaze back down to make eye contact with Quinn, and after a few seconds they meet in the middle.

Quinn breaks the kiss first to clumsily lift her bag up and over her shoulders, dropping it unceremoniously onto the ground before she leans forward to kiss Santana again. Her hands tighten in and pull on Santana’s hair. 

Santana opens her eyes, glancing quickly around her room. Her instinct is to try to guide the both of them over and onto her mattress, but all of a sudden she finds herself doing something much less fun, stepping backwards again from Quinn. “Don’t. You can’t just _kiss_ me and then we’ll be okay.”

“Why not?” Quinn seems honestly puzzled by this. It’s enough to make Santana actually snort in amusement at how oblivious she is. 

“Because I’m fucking _done_ with being your experiment. Guess _what,_ Quinn, the results are in! You like girls! I mean, maybe you like boys too, but you sure as _fuck_ like girls! Or at least, you like fucking _me_! We’ve fucked 16 times in 4 months. For someone as frigid as you used to be, that’s gotta be some kind of record!” 

“For God’s sake, Santana, I _know_!” Quinn’s voice is shrill, loud enough to cut through the whirlwind in Santana’s mind. “Don’t you think that’s occurred to me by now? That I somehow fell for _you_ of all people?”

“Don’t make this about _me_. You think it’s _easy_ being crazy over someone like _you_ , Quinn Fabray?” Santana steps forward this time, enough to get well into Quinn’s personal space. “All your sexual denial is enough to make me think you’re mourning the loss of your straight identity, you’re so fixated on the first step of grieving.”

Quinn narrows her eyes, stepping forward as well. “Look at you. Look at _us_. Do you really think we could be together? We drive each other crazy half the time, then we have sex to try to make it better. How is that healthy?”

“I – Who says I want to _be_ with you?” Santana scoffs, trying to cover up the fact that she actually might want that. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Quinn just shakes her head in response. “We should’ve never started this,” she says quietly. “I messed up everything.”

The quiet admission stops Santana fully. She’s silent for a moment, opening and closing her mouth without actually saying anything, before speaking up again, just as quietly. “Do you really mean that?”

Quinn runs a hand through her hair, looking torn. “I don’t know. Do you really mean that you don’t want to be with me?”

“I don’t know,” Santana echoes. She looks up at Quinn then and sighs. “I just wish you weren’t so god damn confusing, Fabray.”

“Speak for yourself.” Quinn rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile on her face nonetheless that makes Santana feel like maybe…?

All the angry, betrayed emotions she'd had just now have dissipated, mostly, and she wonders if it'll always be like this with them, a roller coaster of highs and lows. Is it worth it?

She decides to try a new tactic. “So you’re here for the weekend?” Santana asks, casually.

“Yeah. I suppose I am.” Quinn’s speaking very carefully, looking at Santana. “Do you think that’d be okay with you?”

Santana just shrugs. “You’re already here, aren’t you?”

“But… you want me to be here.” Quinn says it like a statement, not a question, and it’s everything Santana both hates and loves about Quinn. The way she thinks she knows everything, the cute little hesitant smile on her face when she says it, her tendency towards being incredibly presumptuous.

“Yes, dipshit, I want you. Here.” The corner of Quinn’s lips quirk upward in a smile and Santana shakes her head, trying not to smile. “I want you here,” she repeats, without the pause.

“No take backs. You want me. Here.” Quinn gestures around Santana’s ‘room,’ casually. “Have me.”

Logically, Santana knows that her roommates are just round the corner (not that there’s really any corners in their apartment). Quinn just arrived. They’ve both barely cooled off from their fight.

On second thought, that last one’s never stopped them. In fact, it usually makes the sex even better.

“Yeah, okay.”

–

**The eighteenth time. Well, afterwards.**

“I have a proposal.” They’re naked in Santana’s bed, later that evening after Quinn’d arrived in New York.

Santana’s kind of tired of the gimmicks, but she’s still admittedly on kind of an orgasm high and Quinn’s boobs are on display, so she nods. “Hit me.”

“Well, you know… I’ve been thinking. You’re right. The results of our experiment are far too conclusive for us to carry on with the study.” Quinn pauses for a moment, biting her lip as she looks at Santana. “It’s irresponsible for us to not move the practice into… a real-life setting.”

Santana raises her eyebrows. “You mean we should… have sex after a date, or something.”

“Yes, exactly. Do you accept?”

“As long as you promise that this is the last time you use the scientific method to initiate anything between us.”

Quinn reaches over and runs her thumb over the back of Santana’s hand, looking at her fondly. “I can promise to try.” 

Santana turns her hand so her palm’s facing up, allowing Quinn to take it. “I can promise to try, too.”


	6. Epilogue

**The twentieth time.**

Santana and Quinn are watching a movie together on the couch when Rachel and Kurt emerge from their respective ‘rooms,’ all dressed up for some fancy schmancy NYADA event.

“For the sake of our still-budding friendship,” Kurt tells them as he wraps a silk scarf around his neck, “If–”

“When, let’s not kid ourselves,” Rachel interrupts.

“ _When_ you two have sex on the couch, I beg you, put a towel underneath yourselves so you don’t get anything on it,” Kurt finishes.

Santana shoots a glare in Kurt’s direction. “I don’t know what you lamebrains are talking about.”

“Yes, you do.” Rachel nods, a smug smile on her face. “We’ve been making bets since January on when you two would finally get together.”

Quinn responds by throwing a pillow over the couch; it lands directly on Rachel’s face. 

“Just for that, _no towel_ , fluids _everywhere_ ,” Santana yells as Kurt and Rachel leave. She turns back to Quinn, eyes gleaming.

Quinn looks down at the couch. “You can’t be serious. I have no idea where this couch has been.”

“Those high standards of yours are going to have to go ASAP if you’ll be dating me, Fabray.” Santana moves onto all fours and crawls towards Quinn at the other end of the couch, smirking dangerously.

“Is that a promise?” Despite her earlier protests, Quinn shifts so she’s lying down underneath Santana, a smirk of her own on her face.

“Oh, yeah.” Santana straddles Quinn’s hips and lowers herself down for a kiss. “I’m really glad you’re here.”


End file.
